Rich Man's Coffin (42 page)

"Where is the house maid?
 
My fiancée here needs attending to."
 
Said the man, slurring his words.

"Oh, she's gone to bed for the evening, sir.
 
It's late.
 
The young lady will be shown to her room tonight and attended to in the morning."
 
Said one of the Maori men as the other eagerly nodded in agreement.

The young man, swaying as he held his incoherent lady friend, said, "Shee that see ish!
 
I have to go now, but we will be back in the mornink.
 
Be sir that see ish up!"

The two men gesticulated humbly, smiling egregiously and rubbing their hands.
 
"Very good, Sir.
 
Yes, Sir.
 
She will be shown to her room straight away, Sir."
 
Said each man in alternating repetition of the other.

The young man pushed her into their arms and stumbled back into his seat.
 
Black Jack watched as the carriage drove away and the two men each took an arm of the lady and braced her on their shoulders.
 
The men were not what he would call young and handsome.
 
They impressed Black Jack as being the product of one of the first generation of Maori men to grow up completely within the lifestyle of the Pakeha.
 
Now, in middle age and having had drunk too much, eaten unhealthily, and smoked the same, they showed the effects of being weathered by vice.
 
Their guts protruded heavily over their English belts; and their black hair, although still thick, was receding and peppered with gray.
 
Their features had begun to droop prematurely from the ravages of long nights of libation; and several teeth had since headed south.
 
They were crusty and salty, but not without a certain authentic masculine charm:
 
Much like old yard dogs.

Although walking partly under her own volition, the young lady did not seem to Black Jack to be entirely present of mind as the trio passed beneath the gas lit marquee of the hotel and out of sight below his window.
 
He heard them come quietly down the hall after a time, and then begin to whisper outside her door.
 
He decided to crack his door open for a peek at the parental progress.

As he peered, he saw her bury her face into the chest of one of the men while the other struggled with the keys.
 
Upon his success, he turned and exchanged glances with his mate, and the two looked around warily in all directions.
 
The girl began to babble, seeming to comprehend her arrival at her proper destination.
 
With a concerted push and a slam of the door behind them, the threesome disappeared into the room.
 
Black Jack, tired from his self-appointed night watch, lay down upon his bed and listened for the men's departure.

Inside her dim room, she could barely follow their shadowy forms as the light of the street streamed in past the musty yellow and brown floral drapes, mixing with the glow of the room's oil lamp upon the peeling green foil fleur-de-lys wallpaper.
 
As she felt herself sit heavily upon the bed against the wall next to one of the men, she heard the other man mumble something about “checking on things” from the toilet.
 
Crossing the room, he extinguished the low lamp, filling her eyes with strobing rings of murky colored light rippling over pools of darkness.
 
She strained to focus as she heard the cumbersome wooden window being closed and the curtains drawn, cutting off the supply of cool night air.
 
Small, smooth, wet stones seemed to roll and clack within her cranium, as she became aware of the smells around her.
 
The pungent warm scent of stale red wine and cigarettes snuffed in beer closed in around her along with the sharp, oniony body funk of a presence breathing in her ear.
 
Her neck swanned and jerked, falling forward to meet the dusty wool coat and musky aroma of the man standing in front of her.
 
She struggled to breathe, see, and stop spinning as she felt the coat brush aside her long, fine hair.
 
Why can't the housemaid attend to me properly?
She wondered.
 
Why are these men taking such care to see me to bed?
 
Thinking that she heard the room key jingle in the man's pocket, she raised a wavy hand of protest and query, only to find the large, naked stomach of the imposing Maori.
 
She instinctively recoiled, though clumsily, her hand retracing its hairy trail down his underbelly.
 
She felt the weight and breadth of the man's protruding gut.
 
In her altered state, it reminded her of a heavy wool blanket, fresh from the wash, which her mother and she would have lovingly wrung before it was hung.
 
The first pang of fear passed through her navel, starting from her heart and flowing cold down within her inner folds.
 
Then her hand discovered a happy and anxious child, swaddling beneath the man's bulky spread:
 
The organ grinder's cheeky assistant, springing to touch the rims of her supple sipping portal.
 
Sporting a plum hat and dashing vest, it slipped over the moat, through her pearly gates, and clamored over the castle's royal taster, planting a serviceman's homecoming kiss at the rear of her reception chamber and receiving a reflexive hug in return.
 
Utter shock and terror flashed across the top of her head; and then something strange occurred:
 
As the festooned creature playfully probed and burrowed curiously within her face, like a macaque in the caves on the Rock of Gibraltar, she felt the fear take flight. Warmth melted over her.
 
Has my hand betrayed me
, she wondered,
failing to shun this uninvited visitor at the door?
 
Her fingers held out the last bit of resistance at the threshold, where upon further investigation she found the bold guest's luggage.
 
She felt her bottom becoming as hot butter.
 
The other man, whose hands had been upon her bosom the whole time, now gently grasped her ankles.
 
The two men consorted, and they laid her back upon the bed.
 
She realized that she had never seen a man's face so close to her down there, nor had she felt a man drink from the fountain from whence her bubbly debut vintage now flowed.
 
She wondered if it meant that she would still be a virgin in the morning.

Black Jack drifted through the gentle warm waves of waning consciousness, imagining that he heard frantic scraping, thumping, and rapping upon his wall joining the two rooms.
 
He also heard a sound that challenged his memory.
 
Desperately searching in semi-sleep through his library of sensations, he stumbled across a time in Mississippi when he first heard the stifled, squeaky mews of excited bunnies busy down in their den.
 
He was privy to that noise now over and over again, almost waking to it several times throughout the long night.

The next morning Black Jack awoke bright and early, having left his curtains and window open.
 
Another fine, sunny day greeted him as he stood and scanned the still street just after sunrise.
 
Making his way downstairs, he carefully stepped over empty and tipped bottles, fag butts, and piles of assorted discarded gastric goods from various stages along the digestive path.
 
Once he had jumped clear of the sputum-stained stairs at the front of the hotel, he did not look back.
 
Black Jack walked briskly toward the river and his boat that would carry him home.
 
Down to the dock he scampered, a sole enterpriser risen with the birds, alone in his endeavors; or so he thought.

As Black Jack finished checking his draft and prepared to cast off the lines, a lone, dark figure appeared slouched on the bench.
 
Startled, Black Jack cried out, "Hello there.
 
How ya goin'?"
 
Black Jack could see in the gray light of the early morning that the stranger held what looked to be a letter in his hand.
 
The large man was olive colored with a head of thick, black hair and a bushy red beard.
 
He wore a long seaman's coat, and high black boots with pointed tips.

The solemn figure replied, "Good, mate, but you might not be."

"What do you mean by that?
 
Do I know you sir?"

The man shook the letter sternly. "No, you don't know who I am; but I’ve heard plenty about you.
 
Come closer and I'll tell you."

"What business is it that you have with me, sir?
 
I am busy, and I must go."

The man said, "I think that you will stay when you hear what I have to tell you." His piercing blue eyes became wide and shiny as he spoke.

"Well, out with it then, sir.
 
I have not the time for games and such."

"So, you like to read other people's mail, do you?
 
And what satisfaction does that give you?"

Black Jack felt cold chills. "Who are you?
 
What do you want?"

The man sat up straight. "I want to know why you feel compelled to invade other people's privacy.
 
Is it for some higher purpose?
 
Do you think that you are helping history in some way?"

"Well, I'm not admitting anything until you tell me who you are."

"In good time Black Jack.
 
Suffice it to say that I have it on good word what crimes you've committed.
 
I could have you put away for a very long time.
 
Now, let's say that you are innocent:
 
Let's take a walk and let me show you some things that may influence your thinking on the matter."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, 'cause I haven't done anything wrong."

"Black Jack, let's not beat around the bush.
 
I’ve spoken with Tamihana as well, and he's confessed everything.
 
Now, you can either cooperate, and I can help you; or you can refuse, in which case I will make things very difficult for you.
 
It's your choice, Black Jack."

Black Jack hesitated. "All right.
 
But where's this walk you're talkin' about?
 
I don't have all day."

The man stood and smiled. "Follow me."

The two walked in silence as the mysterious gentleman led Black Jack along a trail through the dense brush out of town.
 
After the better portion of an hour, the bushes began to spread out; and the trail became sandy.
 
Sea grasses began to appear; and the breeze picked up.
 
Black Jack saw gulls and smelled the ocean.
 
The men exited the scrub and walked onto a broad, sloping terrace as the ocean appeared in the distance at its edge.
 
Black Jack could not see a shoreline.
 
It seemed as though the grass of the meadow extended right up to the water's edge.
 
He followed the man, until suddenly, an abrupt edge appeared before them.
 
It was the end of the sand and grass, and the beginning of a vertical cliff that stood towering several hundred feet above the beach.
 
Black Jack caught his breath as he stopped, his head swimming from the height.
 
He stepped back a couple of paces.
 
The man remained standing at the edge, peering down, the wind from below buffeting his hair.
 
He turned and looked Black Jack in the eye.

"Please, have a seat.
 
I have much to tell you."
 
Black Jack sat, ready to listen.
 
The man continued, "Your plan was not without its merits.
 
Your good intentions should probably be rewarded by some higher authority; and in some respect, your ideas will probably reap their own reward.
 
But Black Jack, reading so much mail on such a large scale?
 
Did you really think that that was the right thing to do?"
 
The man paced back and forth in a wandering fashion until he was standing behind Black Jack.
 
From his new vantage, he went on.
 
"Did you really think that you would get away with it?
 
I mean you know, and I know, that this amounts to treason.
 
You could hang for this, Black Jack!
 
And what about the safety of those you wish to help and protect?
 
How do you think the Pakeha would react if they knew?
 
Wouldn't you feel terrible if they retaliated against the Maori in some horrible way?
 
Think about it, Black Jack."
 
The man went on and on about the morality and ethics of the activities in which Black Jack was engaged. Slowly, Black Jack began to ignore him.
 
He started to daydream and gaze out over the ocean. The man's voice droned in the background.